


It's Good to be King

by checkmat3y



Series: The King and his Prince [2]
Category: Basketball RPF
Genre: (Sort of) Established Relationship, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bruises, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, Public Sex, Situational Humiliation, Slut Shaming, Submission, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 23:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7289605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkmat3y/pseuds/checkmat3y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After game seven, LeBron seeks out Steph to rub it in a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Good to be King

**Author's Note:**

> I made this part of a series, but you don't really have to read the first one. But I would say go for it!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments! I am so hyped that we won! I went to the parade and celebrated with over a million people. It was insane! Watching Steph lose was pretty awesome, I have to admit. LeBron deserved it, for real.
> 
> And of course, I about squealed when they got into it again. I reference their little argument, which can be seen here. https://gfycat.com/UncomfortableFortunateBrahmancow It's pretty obvious what LeBron says.

Their next meeting starts with Steph on his knees but not the way he anticipates. Instead, he’s kneeling on an overused blacktop, scuffed, scabbed, and bloody. In this moment, he wonders what LeBron was thinking, asking to meet at public court. Certainly the two of them could have paid for access into a private court, or at least one in better condition.

 

They meet up in a quiet suburb of Oakland at the break of dawn, only hours before the Cleveland team is supposed to leave for the airport. Steph knew he never should’ve answered the man’s message. It had come through Instagram late last night – complete with typos – when he assumed LeBron and the team were our celebrating, most likely drunk. But he had still managed to reach out to Steph. It made his chest ache annoyingly.

 

@KingJames: u stikl up?

 

Steph had immediately driven home after the post-game press conference, wanting to get away from it all. Losing the championship had been depressing enough, but he had let LeBron get to him during the game, a game watched by millions, broadcasted on TV, and examined by thousands afterward.

 

It was only after “the block heard around the world,” or what he expected to be reading in tomorrow’s newspaper, that he knew it was all over. Even though it was LeBron who instigated the quick argument between the two of them, Steph was the one who had gone home with humiliation.

 

“You mad?” Words uttered only moments after the block. They were still ringing in his head. LeBron had uncharacteristically shouted it at him after his block. Dumfounded, Steph had frozen up in response and shook his head, but LeBron knew better, would always know.

 

“Really? ‘Cause you look like you’re mad right now.” Words from a wicked tongue, laced with silver poison. It haunted him in last seconds of the game, at the press conference, and when he returned home.

 

It wasn’t the worst thing LeBron could have said, really, and Steph knew LeBron would never poke at their relationship– well, whatever they were anyways – in public, let alone on the court in front of millions of people.

 

But despite the embarrassment and tense words between them, he had answered the message a few minutes after LeBron had sent it. There was almost no hesitation, and really, what were the chances LeBron would really mean it? Steph assumed it was a drunken text sent to taunt him.

 

@stephencurry30: yah, y?

 

It was another hour before LeBron responded again. Curry had settled for watching a Game of Thrones episode, sulking in his bed at home under the covers with only the screen lighting the room.

 

@KingJames: meet me 2morrow @ 5 am

 

A demand, not a request.  It was a knife against the skin, pressing into the wound before it heals. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from obeying.

 

@stephencurry30: where?

 

@KingJames: 20 La Salle ave

 

His response was swift this time, and Steph was surprised to get an exact address from an assumingly drunk LeBron in an unfamiliar city. He knew the place, a quiet semi-suburban city with a small population of upper-class homeowners that would be dead that early in the morning, no kids going to school and no parents going to work. So, Steph agreed.

 

@stephencurry30: c u there

 

When Steph had left later that morning, almost four in the morning, he’d taken one of his more inconspicuous vehicles out to the meeting point and waited inside until LeBron arrived. He watched sun rise in the rearview mirror, the sky soft amber and air still cool, when LeBron had arrived in an airport taxi, no doubt trying to remain discreet as well.

 

When he exited the car, they had exchanged brief greetings before LeBron asked him if he had a ball, which of course he did, then promptly challenged him to one on one. At first, Steph denied, but LeBron immediately called him a pussy and changed his mind.

 

It didn’t last long, fifteen minutes maybe, before LeBron had already reached 12 points, effectively embarrassing Steph twice within twenty four hours. It was then that he sunk to his knees, breathing heavily and soaked in sweat.

 

He knew now why LeBron had called him out here in the open, stripped of his title, and dignity. To him, beating Steph in the finals was just the tip of the iceberg, the glint of a blade in the night. Steph thinks he might be, probably, maybe, slightly masochistic for showing up.

 

"Did you get what you came for?” Steph huffs out when he's able to take a breath, still on his knees with his hands on his thighs. He doesn’t dare to look up at LeBron in all his glory, standing in front of him with his foot on the ball. It’s the ideal stance for a man often called the king.

 

LeBron smirks at him and casually glances at his watch. Sometimes Steph is in the mood for this charade. In the past, they have gone hours before they let their facades fall; on one occasion they maintained it for an entire afternoon, both of them playing friendly rivals and equals; they both knew to be a lie.

 

This time he lifts his gaze but not his chin, fixes LeBron with a stare that lacks even the hint of a smile. LeBron doesn’t seem restrain the amusement that slides up his throat into a laugh, but he doesn’t delay, either, steps takes his foot off the ball and pushes it backward.

 

It seems like LeBron didn’t really expect him to be in the mood for games, tonight.

 

“You played good last night,” LeBron redirects, maintaining the polite cadence of small talk despite Steph’s clear exasperation and annoyance.

 

Steph makes a sound, something that would be a laugh if he weren’t so tight-wound with fury and comes out in the shape of a growl instead, pushing himself off the ground to stand u. LeBron chuckles and maybe it looks a little fond.

 

“I mean ya’ll did lose, but I’m not GOAT like you, right?” Deeper in the knife goes, fingers reaching in to close a fist around a flickering light.

 

Much like he does on the court, Steph is moving quickly before he has time to think it over. He’s taking a step forward, twisting his arm across his chest to throw an elbow into LeBron’s ribcage with enough force to bruise deep and maybe to crack bone.

 

LeBron takes the half-step back he needs to dodge the swing, reaches out to grab at Steph’s uncovered wrist as his motion swings wide. LeBron always thinks ahead, grabs Steph’s wrist, and steps in behind him. Steph hisses and nearly falls before he catches himself. He can already see the headlines now: MVP Steph Curry tries to fight finals-MVP LeBron James.

 

“That was sloppy for a two-time MVP,” LeBron chides. Steph immediately regrets his decision and almost laughs in agreement.

 

He twists uncomfortably and desperate to look at LeBron, slow to react to the sudden movement, and with one arm already pinned, LeBron quickly grabs the other. He sides off the sports watch he was wearing to loop it around both Steph’s wrists before adjusting the straps to hold tightly with a warning tug. “You know better than that.”

 

“Stop messing around, man. I don’t wanna’ do this shit,” Steph lies. He's hurting and stinging all over from over exhaustion, but as soon as LeBron has his hands on him, a primal pleasure stirs in his groin humming under his skin.

 

LeBron angrily yanks the watch tighter, enough that the material digs in against the Steph’s wrists, and he hisses at the pain. It’s in that moment that his gut sinks to the floor. LeBron doesn’t plan on letting him go.

 

“Are you crazy?” His voice cracks on the exclamation, jumping high and fragile. Someone could be watching, anyone could be watching. At any moment, the paparazzi could drive up, and despite the shrubs blocking most of the basketball court from the street, a car could still pull into the parking lot and see them.

 

LeBron holds his wrists with one hand and reaches out to hold Steph’s head in the palm of his hand before shoving him down and forward so Steph drops to the ground once more. Ironically, the only thing he can think of his how much he loves being touched by those hands, those big, big, hands.

 

LeBron makes a frustrated noise, and Steph knows what he needs to say. “Sorry,” He tries at first, submitting once again, twisting his head back to gaze up to LeBron’s face. But he can’t see him, so his eyes skip down and away, mouth goes soft and shaky against emotion.

 

“Sorry for comin’ at you. I just –“LeBron’s laugh seems louder by the rush of adrenaline in his veins, and Steph stops speaking.

 

“You really are a little bitch.” He feels the tug of his head being pulled into an uncomfortable angle before letting out a silent whimper. “My bitch, hm?” LeBron says quieter, now, and shoves at the back of Steph’s head to let his carefully-won hold go all at once.

  
Steph topples forward embarrassingly, the watch around his wrists keeping him from catching his weight. It’s only a snap-quick turn of his head that lets him take the impact against his cheek instead of the bridge of his nose. It's almost barbaric, a bruise blooming on his cheek as it presses into the rough concrete on the court. Embarrassment floods his emotions once again as he grits his teeth angrily.

 

“Fuck you,” and that’s honest now, raw and furious. With no way to look at LeBron’s face, he can’t see if his words make an impact. But it must have caused some reaction because LeBron, silent but deadly, twists Steph’s wrists with one hand and pulls the watch off with the other. Steph drops his head forward, presses his forehead against the ground and gasps for air so hard that LeBron has to hear it.

 

 

 “So that how it’s gonna’ be, huh?” LeBron finally speaks up. There’s no amusement in his voice, just annoyance. Steph pushes himself off the ground quickly to sit back on his heels and glances over his shoulder. LeBron is watching him, the corner of his lips dragging into a smile too lopsided to be insincere. Steph is still on his knees with one hand on the ground for balance when LeBron quickly kneels down on the hard cement on both knees, very un-king like, and loops his arms around Steph’s waist.

 

There’s a heat spreading across his back from his shoulders to his arse, and any onlooker would think this is a romantic embrace. But LeBron presses his groin against his bum and leans forward into Steph’s back until his chin hovers over his shoulder, hot breath tickling his ear. LeBron grinds his hips and pins Steph’s hand into the ground with bruising force while the other slides down his chest toward his groin.

 

“Why you always making me out to be the bad guy?” LeBron questions but Steph assumes rhetorically. LeBron can no doubt feel the resistance against his hand, the pressure and heat of his cock straining against the cloth. Steph feels like he's alive and dying at the same time. He’s on fire now, trembling and crumbling but will burn till there's nothing left.

 

“You know that ain’t me.” LeBron digs his palm in to punctuate, and Steph groans softly, knowing LeBron is lying. He leans up slightly with his hands out to hold him and presses his forehead into LeBron’s temples, opens his mouth, and pants wetly in his face. “You came here; you know what I want. You know how this game always plays.” He’s pressing harder until he’s at full mast, and Steph bites his lip to stop from moaning again. “And you always fucking lose.”

 

That steals Steph’s breath more than getting falling on his back in the middle of a game. It breaks his composure completely.

 

LeBron completely lets up on the pressure, curls a thumb under the elastic waistband of his shorts, and drags the front of his shorts down an inch or so while Steph is looking for an impossible rebuttal.

 

He settles for a hiss, in the end, and it’s enough for LeBron to continue, getting his shorts and boxers down further until his happy trail is showing. Steph pathetically rocks against his hand like he’s trying to find LeBron’s fingers. The older man impatiently tugs his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down until it catches at the resistance of his hardened cock.

 

Steph chokes in protest, tries to push himself off the ground as much as he can with LeBron pinning him, and rocks his hips enough to shake his clothes down. LeBron’s hand carefully curls around the other's cock, and with the first stroke, Steph chokes on a gasp as precum leaks from the head of his cock.

 

“Wet for me already, slut?” He hears LeBron whisper into his ear, and Steph realizes he had closed his eyes as soon as LeBron had his hand anywhere near his cock. Opening them, he glances down at the soft lips of LeBron’s mouth, wet with the sheen and shining from sweat.

 

They're swollen and ripe-red like plump summer berries ready for picking. Too tantalizing for Steph to pass up the chance to tilt his head enough to press his lips against the other's, lick his tongue along the underside of LeBron’s top lip as if to taste the sugar sweet off the other's skin.

 

"Steph," LeBron’s groans angrily, as if the warning tone resonating deep within his voice is going make Steph stop. He doesn't though; Steph is too content with dragging his tongue across LeBron’s skin.

 

"Stop thinking," Steph tries, weak and breathless as he licks at LeBron’s open mouth. He wants them to both stop overthinking, just concentrate on the now. LeBron surprisingly darts his tongue out to slide against his own, and the heat burns bright in Steph’s blood like nothing else in the world matters, like nothing can reach him.

 

LeBron hums against Steph’s lips and licks at Steph’s mouth hotly, dominating him still. His tongue presses against the top of his teeth, the bottom row, and comes back down to slip into his mouth once more. Steph’s pulse picks up in astonishment and all the air he wants to breathe out sticks to his lungs.

 

There's no trace of a bittersweet tang on LeBron’s tongue, just the taste of Steph himself, and something in that strikes a wildfire of euphoria through his veins. And it must do something for LeBron too because he’s pushing forward into Steph’s back until Steph can feel the hard length of his dick against him. And in that moment, LeBron returns his ministrations back to Steph’s cock and begins to slowly stroke his length teasingly, and Steph hisses into his mouth, body tensing taut with nowhere to go.

 

Steph parts his lips to gasp in the muggy stale air like he's taking his first breath and tips his head to the side and back in offering as LeBron mouth traces his wet tongue down the curve of his throat. He feels LeBron settle on his pulse point, feels his teeth scrape against skin until he’s sucking bruises to the surface.

 

"M-marks," Steph manages, tongue too heavy to string together an efficient sentence from the arousal of kissing LeBron and having him touch his cock. "Don't leave --"

 

"Too late," LeBron purrs, and Steph can feel the other's grin against his neck. Steph’s breath is coming in short bursts of air as he rocks forward into LeBron’s grip on his dick, and LeBron’s groin presses up  harder against his backside. He’s moving faster now, biting and sucking still at his neck, and Steph can feel the heat draw his stomach tight, the muscles in his body begin to tense.

 

He thinks he’s about to cum like a teenager getting his first hand job when LeBron suddenly lets go of his cock and the hand pinned to the ground. “What?” Steph all but stutters out as the heat against his back leaves him, and he tries to get off his knees to turn around.

 

But LeBron is quickly hovering over him and pushing his face into the ground again. Steph stretches out his palms onto the blacktop and turns his face again so his cheek hits the ground. A heavy hand holds him down by his shoulders to keep him in the submissive position with his arse up in the air. His knees feel weak by now, no doubt bruising and scabbing up, but he doesn’t budge from the position.

 

“Stay,” LeBron says, slow and considering, as he slides his hand from his shoulder to his bum, fingers tracing down the line of Steph’s crease over his shorts. His shorts have slid down to his knees with his cock free and hanging painfully erect in the air between him and the ground. LeBron quickly slips his finger back up his crease to thrust it under his shorts, pulling them down until they fall off his hips to his knees.

 

It’s in that moment that Steph starts to panic again. They’re outside, his cock is exposed, LeBron had his hand on his dick, and now his ass is up in the air for all to see. “We’re in public, LeBron,” Steph whines against the ground in protest, but his body betrays him, rising to the contact like iron meeting a magnet.

 

“You weren’t complaining before,” LeBron laughs behind, amusement overtaking irritation in his voice as he digs his thumbs into the soft skin of Steph’s cheeks as he palms them.

 

“I know you want it,” LeBron muses, and lets go of his bum. For a moment, there’s a rustling of fabric followed by the sound of the pop of a cap opening. Steph knows he should get up and bolt for his car while LeBron is distracted, but before he can finish his thought, there’s a wet finger circling his hole.

 

His muscles spasm at the cold nip of the lube and sudden intrusion, jerking against the floor in surprise as tension ripples through him. But he doesn’t pull away. LeBron circles his hole a few more seconds before quickly thrusting in two fingers, his touch bringing Steph’s body to a high flush of heat. The angle is strange with LeBron’s finger curling to fit into him instead of thrusting in along a straight-line path like Steph’s used to, but that’s the least of his concerns.

 

Of far greater importance is the prickling self-consciousness that is running through him, the awareness of the situation. It’s far too bright and clear for him to forget, even as LeBron pushes deeper into him. Someone will see. Steph is sure. Anyone could come into the park and see them. His vision drops down from the panicked heat of self-consciousness.

 

Steph’s whole body goes hot, his spine tingles with adrenaline, and when he lets his breath go, and it comes out as a whimper that would be utterly telltale were there anyone but LeBron to hear it. “That’s what I thought,” LeBron purrs, shifting his hand so he can thrust in more deeply with his fingers. “You love this.”

 

He’s smiling because Steph can hear the amusement on his voice, but he can’t see the drag of LeBron’ lips; his attention is turned to the feeling of his cock untouched and straining towards his chest. He turns his head to face away from the parking lot and presses his other cheek against the harsh blacktop.

 

“You like getting fingered out here out in the open like a fucking whore?” LeBron asks and spreads his fingers wide, pushing hard against Steph’s body.  Steph’s throat tenses, his chest straining for a moan that he barely manages to swallow back before it gives him away entirely.

 

“Not very MVP of you, just sayin’.” LeBron tells him, and Steph can’t tell him no, can’t refuse LeBron anything when his whole body is shuddering with ripples of heat from every thrust of the other’s fingers. “I barely even have to touch you, and you’re begging for it.”

 

LeBron shifts his hand and Steph jerks, shaking against the ground like he’s been shocked. LeBron draws back another inch, carefully this time. “Want me to fuck your mouth too?” LeBron asks as he thrusts in, sharp and sudden.

 

Steph clenches his hands into fists against the ground and jerks his head up, voice breaking into a moan of reaction the pressure elicits. He’s embarrassed, completely and utterly humiliated. His face has to be red, heat enveloping his head and cheeks, and LeBron continues talking “Maybe I’ll just jerk off all over your back and make you go home like that.” Steph’s mewling on every exhale, now, panting for air while LeBron twists his fingers to stretch him wider.

 

His cock is aching, pressing up against his stomach, and LeBron stalls another minute, draws the thrusts of his fingers slow and unhurried as if he has nothing but patience to offer. Steph is desperate for some friction, but LeBron has positioned him with only the blacktop below him, which way out of the question. “LeBron, please,” Steph has resorted to begging now, trying to keep his voice steady. It’s humiliating really, how easily he breaks for this man.

 

LeBron’s fingers slide back and away, the pressure leaving Steph’s body so rapidly he doesn’t have time to offer a protest. He just gasps at the sudden absence, his head tilting awkwardly to look over his shoulder at him. LeBron isn’t looking at him, and he’s not looking at the parking lot either; he’s looking down instead, to where his hands are working to push down his boxers and shorts.

 

The younger man’s entire body shudders sensation with the sudden absolute knowledge of what LeBron intends. He’s tugging his shirt loose of his slacks and reaching into his clothes where draws his cock free. Steph throat works and moans quietly, glancing over his shoulder to look at him. He expects LeBron to tell him to be quiet; but the sound just gets him a glance, and the drag of that smile.

 

“Someone is gonna’ see,” Steph tries to remind him again, looking away from the other to watch the parking lot. “Yes,” LeBron replies curly, and then he’s letting go of his  prick and leaning forward until he’s plastered across Steph’s back, bringing heat and warmth with him. His length presses up against Steph’s bum but doesn’t press inside, and now that they both have their pants down and exposed, Steph wonders what the media would have to say about this.

 

LeBron has one hand around Steph’s waist and the other grips the side of his face, the motion pulling discomfort over Steph’s scalp. He whines in pain but turns his head into the force anyway, letting his neck crane where the other wants him. “You still afraid of getting’ caught?” LeBron tenses his fingers as he speaks, and Steph can feel the weight of the other’s touch brace against his skull, the strength of his fingers pressing against his temples.

 

When the older man leans in and rests his chin on Steph’s shoulder, his lips brush against his ear coyly. “I’m the only one here you should be afraid of.” He feels LeBron say it as much as he hears him, and Steph’s whole body shudders, his breath spilling from his throat into a groan too low for any but LeBron to hear.

 

“You get tested?” LeBron suddenly brings up, his mouth against Steph’s jaw, teeth threatening the soft skin connected to his neck. Steph’s eyes widen in realization. LeBron intends to take him bare. Thankfully, He did get tested the day after their last meet, and it came back negative on all accounts. But he worries about LeBron and the fear hits him.

 

LeBron is moving both his hands to his hips, angling his fingers to catch his nails hard against his skin as he steers him into position. Steph realizes he is waiting for an answer and nods his head. “Yeah, I’m good. You?” He manages to say, breathless and wanting.

 

Steph is waiting for his response when LeBron starts shifting his knees wider behind him, taking one hand off his hip. Steph hears himself panting, his whole body going hot in rippling waves of adrenaline so sharp it feels like panic along his spine. He hears the sound of the man slicking himself up, and he realizes LeBron isn’t answering, isn’t going to.

 

He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t dare make a noise. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make a difference in this moment. All that matters is it’s LeBron. He presses the lubed-up head of his cock against him, the hard heat of him catching at the slick of Steph’s entrance. “You feel that?” LeBron whispers and rubs his cockhead against the hole, and Steph flexes against him, clenching his hole as much as he can.

 

 “You want it bare, don’t you? You’ll probably plug yourself up after I spill inside you. God, you’re such a dirty bitch.” His hand slides down to Steph’s back with the other guiding himself in, moving slowly, as if trying hard to resist the desire to just bury himself in the inviting tight heat.

 

The MVP blinks his vision clear as the words draw another knife into the wound.  “They’ll see,” he whines, hearing the words drawl to pathetic desperation in his throat and not able to steady them. He’s not sure who “they” are but still continues his plea. “We can’t cause – they’ll see.”

 

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” A hand catches at Steph’s shirt, pushes it high up the curve of his spine, and realizes this is actually happening.

 

Steph shudders at the touch, his cock twitching  in the cool air, and then LeBron’s hand is bracing at his hip, holding him still while he shifts behind him as his cock bumps against the slick of Steph’s entrance.

 

“Or did you think you’d win here?” LeBron asks, purring the words into danger on the back of his tongue, or a threat colder for how calm his voice is. “That’s fucking hilarious, man.  You should know you’re never gonna’ to win against me.”

 

LeBron’s hips angle forward, the head of his cock slides against Steph’s skin, and Steph’s throat works on a moan he can’t suppress. “That’s why you came here. To lose again.” LeBron draws his hips back, the heat of his cock pulling away from his skin, and Steph’s chest tightens on panic, his fingers tense and knuckles white.

 

“LeBron,” he chokes out, air rushing from his lungs in the first shudder of terror. “Listen, don’t.”

 

“Don’t what?” LeBron bites out, breath still puffing against Steph’s neck. “Don’t fuck you right here in the middle of this park?” His fingers wrap around his chin, press hard up and back, and Steph’s head follows. “Don’t use you like the whore you are?”

 

“No,” Steph grates, his throat against LeBron’s fingers. “Don’t stop.” That’s it. LeBron has to know that’s it; he has Steph right where he wants him, right where they always end up.

 

“That’s what I thought,” LeBron breathes, and it’s almost relief in his voice but the amusement is certainty clear even over the roar of Steph’s heart beating loud in his ears. “Good,” He adds and his hips come forward, and his cock slides into Steph, wet and oversized.

 

LeBron doesn’t give him time to catch his breath, doesn’t give him a chance to adjust. He just draws back immediately and takes his hand off Steph’s throat to grab his hips again. Steph’s spine tightens into a knot of panic at the too-soon loss before LeBron thrusts forward again and forces another full-body moan from Steph’s throat.

 

Behind him LeBron laughs and frames Steph’s hips with his hands while snapping his hips up in a sudden rush of motion that sinks him in the last inch. Steph’s spine arches, his head angling back so hard his vision blurs, and LeBron lets his hip go to wrap his hand around his neck, to hold his head back at that sharp angle while he hisses ,”Move, bitch,” against his ear.

 

Steph hears himself whimper helplessly at his words and rock himself back as fast as LeBron drags him, pressing himself down and back onto his cock, feeling the burn of the friction spike blinding heat up his spine and behind his eyelids.

 

“Yeah,” LeBron says and rocks his hips up to grind farther into him. “Good little whore.” Steph tries to tip his chin down, tries to force the wild pounding of his heart to ease so he can catch a breath, so he can undo the knot of panic in his chest.

 

LeBron groans, digging his fingers deeper into Steph’s hips as he drags the younger man over his cock, thrusting up as Steph grinds down with every thrust. He struggles to gain a smooth pace, his movements too erratic as Steph tries to meet his speed. With a groan of frustration, LeBron rocks into his next thrust to meet Steph’s efficiently and leans in to lick the salt collected at the back of the other’s neck. He rolls his hips a second time and Steph’s clenches tight around him.

 

It must satisfy LeBron because he lets go of his hip with one hand to reach around Steph’s waist, closes his fingers around Steph’s member and starts to stroke him out. Steph makes a sound so loud and broken that LeBron stops stroking him momentarily until he quiets down. “LeBron,” He says, stunned and sightless and breathless all together.

 

“You wanna’ to come like this?” LeBron asks, his hand and thrusting of his hips stalling to stillness, and Steph sobs in desperation, any self-control he may have once had long since absent from his mind. “With me fucking you out in the open?” His cock jerks in his hand, his blood flares, and LeBron says, “You want everyone to see their MVP fucked in the ass by the champion?” with a forward jolt of his hips that blurs Steph’s vision to white for a moment.

 

It's obscene, the squelch of lube, the smack of flesh against flesh, and the somewhat pitiful noises coming out of himself. LeBron starts thrusting again, painfully slow, and his hand comes down to cup Steph’s testicles, squeezing them gently then gradually harder but not enough to discourage hips that were eagerly meeting his. He slides back up and grasps the base of Steph’s cock again, causing his hips stutter.

 

He starts thrusting at different angles, searching for that sweet spot and ignoring Steph’s pleading whines to stay where he wants him. "Ah!" Steph lets out a pitiful cry when LeBron hits the right spot again. His skin ripples hot with the friction of LeBron matching his thrusts with the strokes on Steph’s cock, and when he leans into Steph’s hair, it has all the shape and form of affection under it without being it.

 

He maintains the new found angle, relishing helpless and wanton cries from Steph. It’s easy for LeBron to fall into a rhythm, between the stroke of his hand and the slide of his cock into the other’s body. Steph spreads his leg further, arching his back and pushing his hips like he’s trying to pull him in closer, and LeBron laughs against the other’s skin before letting out a soft arousing groan.

 

The sound of LeBron’s groan tearing in his throat rushes through Steph’s blood and pulls a faint sigh of satisfaction into him. He ducks his head, closing his eyes tightly, and LeBron twists his hand around his cock and presses the pad of his finger over its head. Steph arches, tries to whine, and then he’s trembling and jerking, coming sticky over LeBron’s fingers, splashing up high on his skin and over the bottom of his shirt.

 

LeBron keeps stroking over him, forcing friction over the other’s length until Steph starts to arch away and shift his shoulders in an attempt to drag away from the excess of sensation. LeBron keeps the grip on his cock, holding him still with his other hand as he thrusts into the tight-drawn heat of the other’s body.

 

Steph’s cock is spilling all over the blacktop, and LeBron is still fucking into him, still thrusting hard as he clenches around the breadth of Steph’s cock. He lets out a whine at the hand around his over-stimulated cock when he hears LeBron breathing heavily behind him, the raw edge of his inhales as he finally starts to come undone.

 

He wishes he could see it, wishes he could twist around to see the focus he knows must be in LeBron’s eyes, the strain that must be collecting around his smile. But he can’t see straight, and he can’t turn his head anyway. And so, in the end it’s the tension of LeBron’s fingers that telegraphs the other’s impending orgasm, the pressure of his grip tightening to pain around Steph’s sore cock.

 

The younger man gasps, his head aching with the too-much pressure of LeBron’s grip on him; and then he hears him groan, a long shuddering note of relief, and Steph can feel the other’s cock spill sticky into him. LeBron keeps his hold for another moment, keeping Steph in place while he thrusts through the last of his aftershocks. Steph lets his eyes close and his body stiffen in submission to the force of LeBron’s movements into him.

 

Steph doesn’t open his eyes. Eventually LeBron’s grip on his length eases, and eventually he draws back to slide out of him in a spill of slick liquid. He doesn’t know if there’s anyone watching, but Steph slumps boneless onto his knees with the weight of pleasure-drained exhaustion stripping strength from his muscles.

 

But after a moment, both of LeBron’s arms wrap around his waist, slumping most of his weight onto his back, and when Steph opens his eyes and turns his head under the contact, LeBron’s breathe ghosts warm against the soft skin just under his ear. He thinks he’s going to kiss him but knows better.

 

His voice is odd, warm and softened to something that someone else might mistake for affection if they didn’t know him. “Defeated, once again.” And Steph doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. He smiles instead, a sharp, vivid dig of his lips to bare his teeth, and when he laughs it, comes unplanned, twisting to the knife-edge of hysteria as it spills over his tongue.

 

Before LeBron pulls away, he pats at Steph’s stomach with his hands and pushes off with the touch of his hips. Steph takes this time unclench his tired hands enough to sit up and reaches back to try and clean himself off, hoping LeBron isn’t watching. Using the edge of his now-dirty shirt, he cleans his cock off quickly and tucks it back into his pants, pulling them up quickly.. His eyes finally dart around the park to look for anyone. Of course, there’s no one. He fucking knew it.

 

The sound of LeBron groaning as he stands up pulls Steph back into here and now. He makes a move to stand up, too and his knees almost buckle from overuse. They are scratched up, somewhat bleeding, and most likely bruising. He bites his lip in embarrassment and shoves his hands into his pants, turning to finally face the other.

 

“Time to go home,” LeBron says casually, and Steph knows it’s a double entendre. He means for Steph to leave and LeBron to go back to Cleveland.

 

“Yeah, right,” Steph manages, but it sounds shattered and shaky. He doesn’t even try to say anything else when the other laughs at him, smiling widely.

 

“Don’t be a sore loser. There’s always next year.” Steph can hear the amusement in the other's voice, the way he mocks the Warriors’ loss. Steph doesn’t know what to do. He wants to look away, wants to turn around and quickly drive off. Yet, another part of him wants to drag this on, tell LeBron to stay.

 

But his throat is constricting itself, the odd combination of anger and nostalgia too much for his coherency to handle.  His voice dies in his chest, has left him gaping speechless as LeBron walks toward him but past him all together. All it would take is a word, Steph knows, and LeBron would at least stay to retort.

 

But Steph can’t speak, and LeBron doesn’t look up, walks right past him without another word. His voice remains silent, but the air around him does not. There’s a soft rumbling noise from the parking lot, and a car is suddenly pulling up. The taxi from earlier. Steph almost laughs it. LeBron had timed it all perfectly, probably told the driver how long to wait, or parked around the corner and listened in. It’s unreal.

 

All Steph can do is stare at the unbelievable reality of what just happened. It’s long after LeBron has vanished from sight around a distant corner that Steph can think to catch his breath, and the longer he stands unmoving at his position on the blacktop, the more he realizes how fucked he really is.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. Don't worry, I will probably write some in the off season. I get pretty bored, but at least I have baseball to watch.
> 
> Hit me up @Checkmat3y.tumblr.com if you wanna shoot the shit or just squeal of these two millionaires. 
> 
> I love comments and reply to them all, ya'll.


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